REFLECTIONS IN THE DARK
by Rufferto
Summary: FINISHED Frodo is in Cirith Ungol....Slight AU....no OCs. No slash. No Rape.. Frodo's Misery in Cirith Ungol and what he goes through.
1. Lost

REFLECTIONS IN THE DARK by Rufferto.  
  
DISCLAIMER : I don't own Tolkien and am not going to be making any money off of this. Be warned. This is R for a REASON. Flaming is not necessary. Don't read it if you don't like Graphic.   
  
In Summary : Frodo is trapped in Cirith Ungol. This is AU for Frodo is in the tower for much longer than he was in the book. I've added my own dark twist. Its not for the faint of heart….There are no OCs.   
  
Medically speaking…this will be graphic. It is dedicated to my good friend Febobe…..who thinks she's weird for liking to write graphically….I hope this inspires her to post her stuff.   
  
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REFLECTIONS IN THE DARK -- CHAPTER ONE  
"Lost"  
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Slowly…he came to from darkness into shadows. The shadows loomed and danced…their fingers greedily seeking him….thrusting towards him…would they never leave him alone? He cried out and his eyes flung open. He was awake finally…  
  
The first thing he noticed was that he was cold, he never felt so cold in his life….at least…he didn't think so. But he couldn't really think… It was also terribly damp. He had long since been stripped to nothing, lying on the cold stone floor while the rats skittered about in the corners. But how long had he been here? He couldn't remember.   
  
He tried to adjust his eyes to the darkness but his head hurt terribly…he reached up and found that there was a scrape just above his right eye as though someone had hit him with a hard sharp object. It had bled…and the blood was now dry and caked to his fair skin. He could feel the scab forming and when he rubbed at it in pain, it broke off…new blood tricking down, blurring his vision. He wiped at it, but only succeeded in smearing the blood further.  
  
Where was he?…somewhere in the dark…stone…a castle? There wasn't any windows….there was no light…only the hint of torchlight on the other side of the door leading out of the room. It barely came through the cracks underneath. He stumbled towards it, crying in pain…for he had not realized that chains had been shackled to his legs. He only succeeded in tripping and falling, creating a ringing sound that echoed in his ears for what seemed like an eternity.  
  
But…as he rubbed at his sore ankles…bitten sharply by the metal that was clamped around them it dawned on him that he couldn't remember…. anything…Who was he? What was he doing here? What had happened to put him here? He had a strong feeling that he didn't belong…that everything was terribly terribly wrong. He strove to organize his muddled brain. So much was there…but nothing made any sense…  
  
He tried to drag himself to a sitting position against a wall, but when he leant back his back stung…and he gave another cry of pain. His shoulder…and his neck both ached and he felt behind his neck to find some kind of puncture on the left side there…was there no end to his wounds?  
  
He felt along his body…and realized that there were parts of him that hurt so badly that he didn't want to think about it…especially his back side…dried blood was caked on one side of his small rear where a rock had scraped it while he'd been dragged across the floor possibly….and it was awfully painful. He felt sick to…queasy…as though his insides were churning. His legs were jelly and he couldn't think. He thought he smelt something fowl nearby…and he had a terrible urge to relieve himself….it felt like it was burning inside of him. Was it something he ate?   
  
He started to cough…his chest wracked with pain and he wheezed and choked until he stopped for there was no water to be found…nothing to ease him. He wiped his mouth with a dirt caked hand and sniffled for a minute as he caught his breath.  
  
A hazy memory flashed in his mind of being dragged kicking and screaming across a jagged stone lot….that's where it must have happened….It hurt so badly….the wound was very close to where things naturally came out and he was afraid…If it was stretched at all it would start to bleed again…He closed his eyes and tried to fight tears, it was so frustrating. He had no idea who he was….no indication of who he was…He only knew that he was in pain…and there was no relief in sight. He would have to hold it…as long as possible.  
  
His stomach muscles were cramped as well…he was hungry…when was the last time he did eat? He didn't know…what -did- he eat? He had a vague recollection of something small and round and tasty…apples? Was that what they were called? Fruit…he liked fruit…pies…memories drifted in and out like sand falling through a broken glass window.  
  
There was also something missing…something very dear to him…He didn't know if he could live without it it for very long…whatever it was. It ate at him…and was the one thing that kept him from collapsing in the dark and not moving ever again….it called…Tempting him to action…but what action? What could he do trapped like an animal in a cage?  
  
He dragged himself to the door and shook it. "Help me!" he cried hoarsely, leaning against the stone wall. And the tears began to fall…as he desperately struck at the wood. "Somebody?….Anybody!" He clawed at the door with all the strength he had left…causing his fingers to bleed from his efforst. But they were in vain…  
  
No one came. He was alone. And he didn't even know why. He lay against the door for a while, trying hard to gather his senses…and then he heard it. A clicking sound against the corridor outside…coming closer and closer.  
  
His ears perked up….footsteps? Claws against the floor….he paled…and backed away from the door…stumbling…he remembered clawlike feet when he was being dragged…he braced himself against a wall as there was a final *click* as the bolt was slid away and the door slowly began to open…letting in a flood of light…nearly blinding him though it was only the light from a torch.  
  
…..  
  
TBC…. 


	2. Pieces

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REFLECTIONS IN THE DARK -- CHAPTER TWO  
"Pieces"  
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He shaded his eyes from the blinding light and suddenly his body was doused with some kind of sticky substance…water? …But it was not clear like he would have expected. Why would he have expected that? What kind of water was he used to? Clear and blue…a river…He sputtered and choked as he coughed and rubbing his eyes. There was a creature in the doorway, holding an empty bucket.   
  
It was humanoid, but seemed oddly pinched…its skin leathery and greenish and its eyes bulging from his forehead. He wore grimy, brown clothing, and in one hand he held a long stick with three leather straps on the end of it. Snaga dropped the bucket and advanced on the halfling, yanking his hair back.  
  
"Where is it?" Snaga growled, "Where is the Precious?"  
  
The prisoner let out a whimper of protest, and forced his eyes open, he didn't know what the orc was talking about. "Please..." he begged. "Please I don't know…" his throat was so dry and now he was colder than before…the water stinging his skin. He wrapped his arms around himself and huddled against the wall his mind whirling.   
  
"You know. Filthy hobbit knows. Snaga will find the precious. And yes, you tell!" he flung the hobbit away and the prisoner hit the wall groaning…and curling up into a heap on the floor. "Where?" he snapped the stick in the air and it cracked menacingly.  
  
The hobbit cringed. "I d-don't have It." he whimpered. "I d-don't k-know w-what y-y-you're talking about…" his teeth began to chatter as he looked up at his tormentor.  
  
Shagrat was in the door before Snaga could do anything else, "Think you can get ahead of us, Snaga?" Shagrat grabbed the stick out of Snaga's hand. The bigger orc shoved the other towards the open door. "Think you get the Ring first?"  
  
"Snaga wouldn't do that, Captain. Yes, he came to give the prisoner some water. But hobbit tried to escape." Snaga hopped back to his feet and backed out of the door.   
  
"Don't forget it. MY tower. Not yours." Shagrat growled angrily, "Out of my site!" he looked back at the halfling. "You." he stepped forward. "You talk. Tell us where it is, and no more pain. Or you can stay in here till you die, little rat."  
  
"Please…" the hobbit begged hoarsely, "Please, I don't know…I don't understand what you w-want…" All the hobbit understood was the pain in his small body. He tried to look for pity in a being that did not know the meaning of the word.  
  
Shagrat gave a frustrated growl and stormed out of the prison cell, locking and bolting the heavy oak door…. And the hobbit was once again alone in the dark.  
  
He stayed where he was for a long while, huddled against the wall with his arms wrapped around his knees in a little ball. He wracked his brain trying to figure out what it was that his captors wanted. They were looking for something they called 'The Precious'…and for some reason…it nagged in the depths of his memory. He closed his eyes…trying to remember as he rocked back and forth…shivering.  
  
He had to turn to lie on his side for his bottom was sore and bleeding again. He had nothing to clean it…or to stop the flow of blood. Eventually it would dry and scab if he left it to the open air. He tried focusing, but his body refused to let him. As time passed he slowly began to remember.  
  
The first image that came to him was the face of a man…how could he ever forget it? The man's face that he remembered was weather-beaten and rugged, a tiny beard on the end of his chin. His hair was dark brown and hung straight and almost in a wild fashion. His eyes were dark and kind and he was holding the halfling in his arms. "Frodo…hold on…" It was dark around them then too…and his shoulder was aching terribly.  
  
The man would have tucked a blanket around him…would have slowly begun to clean each wound in a painstaking manner. His touch was gentle and calming and Frodo wished that he were there. What he wouldn't give for one of the man's foul tasting remedies right now.  
  
The prisoner's eyes snapped open…his name…he remembered his name…it was Frodo…he was a hobbit…from the Shire. But he couldn't recollect anything else yet…the pieces were all still so muddled. His eyelids sagged back down…it was so much easier to go back to that image…. And to go back to being cared for. It was almost making him forget where he was.  
  
A cool cloth was dabbed against his fevered brow, and he murmured vaguely. The man encouraged him to open his eyes, but Frodo felt that it was safer to stay in the realm of half-sleep. There was something around his neck back then too…that was not there now. Something very heavy…it felt so good to be in the arms of someone who cared about him.  
  
Anything was better than where he was now. Images floated in his mind, voices and scenes from times and places that he didn't understand. He shifted uncomfortably because he would soon have to relieve himself. He couldn't keep it in any longer no matter how much it hurt.  
  
Tears of pain streamed down his cheeks as he squatted near a corner of the cell…and proceeded. Since he moved to the far corner of the room, he discovered something. His discovery would prove to be a blessing as he found an old holey blanket stuffed underneath a pile of wood in nearby. It must have once been a bed. He tore off a corner of the blanket and dabbed it in a puddle on the floor from the water that had been tossed on him before. Using the course material he cleaned himself as best he could…but he could feel more warm blood.  
  
Frodo shivered, and wrapped the dirty, musty blanket around him and found a clean corner to huddle in. His mind was moving quickly now; scattered images flew about as they attempted to sort themselves.  
  
"There Frodo, have a bit of this, I think you'll like it." The man's voice filtered through once again. A small bowl of mashed potatoes was presented to the hobbit that was lying in the grass, wrapped in blankets. He had been cold then too…but it was a different kind of cold.  
  
"I'm not hungry." The weary hobbit looked away, his eyes glistening with tears.  
  
"You must eat, Frodo." the man did not take no for an answer and brought a spoonful to Frodo's lips.   
  
It was only the insistence in the kind voice of the Ranger that got the Hobbit to eat finally…and only a little bit of the warm mashed potatoes.  
  
If the man were here now with him…Frodo vowed that he would finish the whole bowl. He wished he could remember the man's name.  
  
* * *  
TBC 


	3. Haunting

Author's note : Frodo's Favorite Dinner Spread by Febobe.J  
  
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REFLECTIONS IN THE DARK -- CHAPTER THREE  
"Haunting"  
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Frodo faded in and out of consciousness as time passed. The moth-eaten blanket did little to ease the cold, but it was better than nothing. He reached up to run his hand through his damp curls and coughed miserably. The bedraggled hobbit felt weak and defeated, and he didn't even know why. He perched on his feet because it was too painful to sit as he huddled against the wall. When was the last time he had anything to eat? He didn't know that either.  
  
Images of what he might eat began to filter through the hobbit's mind though he tried desperately to think of something else. Unfortunately the images would not go away and he could almost smell the sensuous treats that were laid out about the grand hall….just waiting for him to sink his teeth into.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The scene played in his mind as he walked down the huge table, looking over the dishes, his mouth watering….  
  
There were….piles of scones; maple scones, cranberry-walnut scones, there were huge moist muffins; black currant muffins, pumpkin muffins, apple crumb muffins. There was all kinds of tea…Huge bowls steaming with cream of chicken and mushroom soup with piping hot fresh rolls on the side…Fresh mince pies and mushroom turnovers. There was a great.roast goose with sage and onion stuffing and applesauce. There were heaping bowls of acorn squash with cinnamon and honey. There was platters of stewed mushrooms. There was a syphony of potatoes spread; mashed potatoes, and white ones with butter and sweet ones with cinnamon. Vegetables were scattered in varies bowls; corn pudding (rather like creamed corn, but thicker), sweet peas with mint, carrot fritters. For desert; pumpkin cake, apple pie and spiced ale as well as baked cranberry pudding with sweet sugary sauce, plum custard tart and gingerbread muffins. Not to mention the breads! Mulled cider and nutbread, cranberry bread and last but not least…hot chocolate with peppermint brandy and pecan stickybuns. . . ."  
  
It was all the things that he liked best in the world, prepared with love and care…but he didn't want any of it…he was 12 years old…and something terrible had happened…what…he couldn't remember….why would he not want to eat?  
  
* * * * *  
  
Tears welled in his eyes once again. Even when faced with such delicacies, Frodo never did eat much of what was there. But what he wouldn't give to be there now…to have such a melody of food spread out before him. To have anything but what was happening now…he needed desperately to be warm…  
  
Was he usually not hungry? Did he go without food for long periods of time before? Was that why he was so hungry now? He closed his eyes and the hazy, vague memories flashed through him. He had a feeling that he was…for he was a little on the thin side, and for some reason the idea that he should weigh more would not leave him.  
  
*****  
"I've never seen a hobbit eat so little." he heard the words vaguely. He was lying on a beautiful feather bed, comfortable yet his chest hurt. He struggled to open his eyes but he was tired…so tired.  
"I know, Doc." a gruff male voice answered. "I've been trying to get him to eat more than he did at Brandy Hall, but the lad is stubborn."  
"That stubborn streak runs in the family, I think, Bilbo." the doctor joked.  
  
*****  
  
He would eat now, he really would…All he needed was someone to bring him something…anything…His stomach was in so much pain….enough pain that he could barely move without it hurting.  
  
*****  
"Frodo-luv, do have a bit more of this peach sauce, your Aunty made it specially for you."  
"Don't like peaches…want applesauce…please Mama…" The five year old pouted at the table and refused to open his lips.  
"There's no apples left, dear. There won't be until the Spring."  
He remembered crying for hours while his mother held him. His throat had been awfully sore for a while that winter and the only thing that he could easily get down was applesauce, but they'd run out of it.  
  
*****  
  
Frodo shivered, wondering why the memory was causing such a reaction in him. His mother…masses of chocolate brown curls and beautiful eyes. He missed her terribly, and it hurt in his stomach to think of her….and to even have a memory of her. Why? Where was she? He wanted her…and the idea of wanting her was hurting him. He was past the age of wanting his mother, but the emotion was building inside of him and he couldn't control it. Why did it hurt so much?  
  
His mother would help him to…she would not have let this happen to him, Frodo was sure of that. He struggled to hold onto bits and pieces of her as the memories made little sense in his scattered thoughts.   
  
"Mama…" he whimpered in the dark.  
  
He was so hungry… 


	4. Icy Fingers

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REFLECTIONS -- CHAPTER 4  
"Icy Fingers"  
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Frodo did not know how long he lay there in the darkness, wrapped in the meager blanket. His bottom was terribly sore…he'd tried to go to the bathroom again, but it had hurt so much that the results had been less than he'd originally intended. The blisters had multiplied…and he had a feeling he was getting a rash…which wouldn't surprise him. His skin tendered to be pretty sensitive.  
  
He was cold…hungry…thirsty…and miserable. He could hardly remember anything…his mind was so jumbled. Fleeting images had made their way to the surface here and there, but none of them explained his current situation….or what he was doing here. He shivered when a particularly cold wind found its way through a crack in the tower wall.   
  
The chill wind bit into his flesh, moving clear through the blanket no matter how much he tried to defend himself against it. He huddled where he was, tears falling aimlessly from his bloodshot eyes. He'd never been so cold before….  
  
No…no that wasn't true…  
  
There was a time in the near past when he thought he would never be warm again…  
  
* * * * *  
  
He closed his eyes as he saw the figure before him…There was a white ghostly creature with a crown upon his head looming above him in the shadows. He discarded his long sword for something else…a smaller sharp blade that pulsed in the darkness. Frodo backed away, terrified. He looked down…and upon his finger was a glowing golden ring…so bright and beautiful that it held his attention completely despite his circumstance. It did not let him regain his senses until the White King reached for it. That was when warmth left the hobbit's body. The sharp blade penetrated his clothing…the pain was terrible…it was like having a thousand needles forced into your skin at the same time. He couldn't breathe…he fought for control of his senses…for everything began to swim around him and he was sure he was going to pass out…then…someone…lept to his rescue. A tall dark figure in the other world…The White King's blade was pulled out of Frodo's flesh and he felt such a release that he gasped…air rushing back into his lungs. With all the senses he had left, Frodo took off the ring and remembered crying out one name…"Strider!"  
  
* * * * *  
  
The Ring…The Ring…Frodo shivered uncontrollably….suddenly missing it so terribly that it nearly caused him to choke. The Ring…his ring…the Precious…precious…his own…  
  
Frodo's head began to throb with pain. "Strider." he whimpered in the dark….finally the image of someone he remembered was coming to him…tall and dark…  
  
* * * * *  
  
He was shivering with cold…and it was difficult to see. He swayed on top of some kind of animal…a beast of burden….Bill?….He looked down and could hear someone nearby…but could not make out what they were saying. "S--so--so cold…"   
  
The sun was beating down upon them from above and yet…yet he could barely feel his feet. Strider dragged him off of Bill and laid him down in the grass, putting a makeshift pillow underneath his head made up of the ranger's own coat.   
  
He held a cloth to Frodo's head, wiping it gently as Frodo leant against him. Even the man's warmth was not enough to push away the chill. Frodo couldn't remember what it was like to be warm…even then. Was he dying?  
  
"Hold on, Frodo." he felt Strider's fingers prod at his wound, putting something over it, some kind of salve. It hurt so badly he could not contain a cry of pain. He could hardly feel anything else but the pain in his shoulder.  
  
He remembered feeling that the ranger was warm…warm and sweaty from the noon sun as should he to be…but for Frodo it was as if it was the dead of winter…and the ground was laced with ice, and the cold seemed to reach for him…seeking to hold him in a vice grip of death…  
  
* * * * *  
  
Tears streamed down Frodo's face as the memory haunted him again and again…Where was the Ring? Where was Strider now? Was he alive? Would he come to save Frodo? Why did he want the ring so badly…Why did it hurt so much that it was gone? Strider…  
  
Were there people looking for him? Did anyone care?   
  
He wasn't used to people caring…  
  
* * * * *  
  
A little bed…in a small room…winter…Brandy Hall…there was a crack in his window and no one had fixed it yet…no one had had any time…The thirteen year old hobbit huddled in his blankets while the rest of the hall slept soundly.  
  
It was his first Yule…alone…  
  
The thirteen year old had wished so hard for someone to come…to come to him and hold him in their arms and tell him everything would be okay.   
  
If he had been alone…why? Where were his parents…he didn't remember…he couldn't remember…  
  
* * * * *  
  
There wasn't anyone looking for him…Everyone he loved was far away from him now…so far far away. They would never find him. He would die here in this tower…at the hands of the Orcs that were torturing him…trying to find the Precious. He didn't know where it was…he didn't understand why they wanted it so badly.   
  
But here in the cell that he'd spent too long in the dark within…there was no one to hold him.  
  
Would he ever be warm again?  
  
He wished…he could remember. And even then…he wasn't sure he wanted to remember. The memories that came back to him made his heart hurt even more than it did now. Was that why he couldn't remember? Had he blocked everything out finally? Had it been too much to bear?  
  
He wiped at his tears and then winced. His hands were so frozen that it pained him to use them.   
  
He gazed desperately at the door hoping that someone…anyone would come through. At this point, he'd even welcome an Orc…at least then, they might take him somewhere warm…he could endure the pain as long as he was warm.  
  
TBC 


	5. I don't know

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REFLECTIONS -- CHAPTER 5  
"I don't know…."  
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Frodo woke up to a cry of pain, and a sudden horror…realizing that it was his voice. His ears twitched as he heard a dull clinking sound coming from all around him. What was it? His mouth was dry and he was tired…so tired..   
  
The last thing he remembered was a foul orc standing above him but no one was with him just now, they had left him when he'd passed out. They'd asked him questions… questions he couldn't answer. Questions he didn't understand.  
  
"Where is it?"  
  
"I don't know…"  
  
"Where is the Precious…"  
  
"I told you…I don't know…I don't know anything…please…I…"  
  
At that moment, he'd blacked out. All around him was that horrid clinking sound, a constant reminder of where he was, even if he shut his eyes he could still hear it. A hammer against stone. Again and Again and Again  
  
He swallowed dismally, when the question was asked yet again.  
  
"I…I don't know…"  
  
He closed his eyes and his mind swam in a sea of images that made little sense. He hung onto the words in his head "Hold On Frodo." as though they were a lifeline. He did not have anything else to hold on to, somehow they were comforting…they were something that made him feel safe even in the depths of the hell in which he found himself.  
  
To his mind came clear now, the voice that spoke them…and the man's face. Dark…tall…blue eyes…and another face…kind and soft with blonde hair…and a firm stocky build.  
  
*** flashback***  
He was lying in a forest glade and above him were stone statues of trolls. Blankets were wrapped around him and he was cold…hearing the call of something terrible in his mind. A keening cry that screeched through the night in regular intervals that sent shivers down his spine.  
  
His shoulder was in awful pain.   
  
The man was searching the glade to his left…and…and…at his right he looked up into the face of a kind blonde haired hobbit like him…yes…yes…he was a hobbit. He -remembered- that. Stockier by far, his face edged with worry and concern, his blonde friend spoke softly.  
  
"There now, Mr. Frodo. We've got you wrapped up nice and tight. I've made some mushroom soup…you need to eat something."  
  
He vaguely heard two other voices but his gaze focused upon the one speaking -to- him. "Sam?"  
  
Sam…Sam…the name rang in Frodo's mind.   
  
"I'm not hungry, Sam…Just tired…I want to sleep…"  
  
What was so important about Sam?  
  
He didn't know for sure what was going on, or what was happening to him at the time. Frodo only remembered that he was in terrible pain…and Sam's voice helped to -anchor- him.  
  
Sam cradled the stricken hobbit in his arms soothing gently. "Of course you're hungry, Mr. Frodo. How are you going to get well if you don't have anything inside, hmm?"  
  
Sam…  
  
Frodo gazed up at his friend and wished he could explain, but he was tired, and cold…and he wanted nothing more than to simply close his eyes and not wake up again. Then the pain would end…and he would no longer have to endure.  
  
"Just a few more spoonfulls, Mr. Frodo. You're doing just fine."  
  
Dear Sam…  
  
***end flashback***  
  
If only he was here now…Frodo wouldn't feel so completely alone. Something was biting into his ankles and wrists…rope? Yes, it was being tightened slightly. Not that it was necessary, Frodo didn't have the strength to flee anyway. His strength was centered upon remaining conscious…alive…  
  
Why was it important that he stayed alive?  
  
***flashback***  
  
A beautiful elven lady gazed down at him sadly, her hair was the color of sunlight, spun neatly into long braids and she wore a white silky gown and a golden circlet.  
  
"If you do not complete this task…there is no one else who can. You have been chosen.."  
  
***end flashback***  
  
There had to be someone else, how could he get out of this? He had no strength left…he had come this far…from where…from…  
  
***flashback***  
  
"It is very important that you get out of the Shire, Frodo. They are coming for the Ring…" An old man with a long white beard was smiling sadly at him.  
  
***end Flashback***  
  
The Ring.  
  
That's what the Orcs wanted. They wanted his Ring of Power. Oh…Oh who had it? Where was it? He suddenly felt desire wash over him…enough of it that it brought back his strength from somewhere within his form. Where was his Ring? Who…  
  
Sam  
  
***flashback***  
  
"Its heavy, Sam….I don't think I can go on. Lets just rest here for a minute…"  
  
"Sure you can, Mr. Frodo. Take it one step at a time, here, lean on me."  
  
***end flashback***  
  
Frodo's mind throbbed, the memories were slowly piecing themselves back together, and he was beginning to understand just why they had fallen apart. He had lost the Ring and it had driven him nearly insane.  
  
"Where is the Precious?"  
  
Clearly the words assaulted him, coming from just above, somewhere near. He did not dare open his eyes, he was sure if he did…  
  
"Where is it?"  
  
Frodo cried out in defiance, his eyes snapping open in anger. How dare -they- try and steal his ring? "You can't have it! Its beyond your reach! Its -mine-. I tell you. Mine!" The hobbit thrashed against the ropes, trying with every ounce of strength that he had left to break free…  
  
But in vain.  
  
And he finally remembered….everything…  
  
Though he wished with all his heart that he didn't. 


	6. Waking UP

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REFLECTIONS -- CHAPTER 6  
"Waking Up"  
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He was left then, curled up, everything taken from him. Everything. How could he go on? It had been foolishness to entrust the ring to him. He was only a hobbit. He wasn't a great leader or a hero. He was only Frodo Baggins.  
  
He wanted nothing more than to curl up and die just then. It was hopeless, everything that he had done to get to this point, all that he had lost, everyone who must now be dead because of him. Sam? What had happened to dear Samwise? He didn't know. He would never know.  
  
It didn't matter how many times they hit him or tortured him, he didn't know where anything was. It was gone. It had left him. That was all that mattered. He was alone, and there was nothing that he could do about it. He was helpless and at their mercy.  
  
Orcs however, did not know the meaning of the word Mercy. They would torture him body and soul until he could stand it no longer and faded into darkness. His fate had been decided. He was weak…It was over. Everything…  
  
He was only Frodo Baggins…What could he do against such hatred.  
  
"Hush now, Mr. Frodo. Sam's here."  
  
Someone was rocking him in their arms. What? Was this a dream?  
  
Maybe it was.  
  
Was the dream any better than reality? He reached up to his neck and felt something very heavy there. He trembled and tears fell from his eyes as he shook uncontrollably in his saviors arms. He was no longer in the tower. Sam -had- found him. But he was still being tortured, there was nothing more to it than that.  
  
Bearing the Ring of Power was killing him.  
  
Even if no Orc blade touched his throat, it would still kill him.  
  
He drank thirstily from the cup that Sam put to his lips as he tried to focus on where he was, on who he was…"Where are we, Sam?" he gasped out.  
  
"You're safe, Mr. Frodo. Its alright." Sam said softly. "Just rest a bit."  
  
"Safe, Sam?" Frodo sighed, the nightmares would always be with him, for as long as he carried the ring and beyond. "I will never be safe again."  
  
**THE END**  
  
(I know its short, but I didn't plan on continuing w/this story and realized I kinda left it hanging. In short, he had a nightmare about being in the tower..) 


End file.
